


tempting

by magnificentbirb



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: And San Knows He's Hot Okay, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Slight Possessiveness, Too Much For Hongjoong Apparently, Wonderland Choreo Is A Lot, don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 19:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21184916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: It’s a heady feeling, dancing with Choi San.Hongjoong finds himself a bit distracted by San, and potentially impulsive decisions are made.





	tempting

**Author's Note:**

> so that Wonderland choreo, eh? those San and Hongjoong moments. you [know](https://i.imgur.com/I7dxVwy.png) the [ones](https://i.imgur.com/yZJRN3C.png).
> 
> ... yeah.
> 
> i partially blame my twitter friends for this. (♡)

It’s a heady feeling, dancing with Choi San. Hongjoong feels it every time he dances with any of his members, really, because they’re so damn _good_ and he’s so damn _proud_, but there’s something extra to be said for the tingly feeling of excitement that bubbles in Hongjoong’s tummy when the choreographer suggests, “Hongjoong, why don’t you give San a fake little slap on the cheek when you pass him by, to snap his head back around to the front?”

And San just looks at Hongjoong, all innocence and elegant raised eyebrows, and Hongjoong says, “Sure,” and his voice maybe croaks a bit, but no one mentions it, and they get into formation to try it out.

And the first time they get it right… _oh_, the first time they get it right.

Hongjoong grazes his hand up San’s shoulder, tracing a smooth path up to his cheek, and then he brushes his fingers over San’s cheek, not too hard, not an actual slap, just enough to look convincing, and San’s head _snaps_ to the front, and the bottom of Hongjoong’s stomach drops out, because _oh_. 

It’s _intoxicating_, feeling like he’s controlling Choi San, even just for this one moment, this one move. He feels in charge. He feels _powerful_. 

It’s addictive.

The next time they do it, Hongjoong watches San’s face in the mirror, sees the little smirk San gives afterwards, the subtle way his head cocks to the side and his eyes flash from behind dark, sweat-soaked hair.

Hongjoong’s mouth goes dry.

And then—_and then_—the choreographer has another suggestion.

“Hongjoong, I want you to really milk this, okay?” says the choreographer. “San’s gonna be right in front of you, leaning back, and I want you to grab his collar, his lapel, whatever’s there, and tug him back up as you all straighten into a line again, okay?”

“Okay,” Hongjoong says quickly, and San grins at him, waggling his eyebrows excitedly.

They practice the timing first, watching their forms carefully in the mirror to get their positioning right, the angles, the basics.

And then San adds the flair.

And _that_… well. _That._

Hongjoong almost chokes the first time San gives his all for that move. They’ve already been practicing for a while, and they’re both sweaty, Hongjoong in a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, San in a loose tank. Then they get into line, and San leans back while Hongjoong leans forward, and Hongjoong suddenly finds himself faced with the graceful arch of San’s pale, sweat-soaked throat. San’s eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and Hongjoong is briefly dazzled by how goddamn _pretty_ San looks from this angle before he remembers that he’s supposed to be completing the choreo. So he hurriedly slides his hand over San’s chest until he comes to the collar of San’s tank top, and then he curls his fingers into the damp fabric, fingertips brushing bare skin, and yanks San upright.

“How was that, hyung?” San asks afterwards, and Hongjoong at first can only nod, his throat tight and stomach in knots, before he forces out, “I think they’ll love it,” at which San positively beams.

The stages are a bit easier to bear. San’s chest and neck are generally covered by thick fabric in their military style costumes, and without a mirror Hongjoong can’t see the smirk on San’s face every time he snaps San’s head to the front during the intro, but he knows it’s still there—he can hear it in the screams of their fans.

But then… then he starts watching their stages.

They’re encouraged to monitor themselves, of course. It’s the first thing they do once they stumble off stage and into the waiting room of whichever music show they’re filming that day, mini fans running on full blast, staff members dabbing the sweat from their temples, their jaws, their necks. They all crowd around the monitors and watch themselves perform, and Hongjoong starts cataloguing every little thing about the performance: missed timing on a camera angle, a slight misstep in the choreography, why it might have happened (_did someone get hurt, is Mingi’s injury all right?_).

The initial monitoring is professional, a leader watching his team, proud as can be but always with suggestions for how they can make themselves shine even more.

The later viewings of the stage, though… those happen late at night, when the other members are sleeping or practicing or out for a quick meal, and Hongjoong finds himself alone in his bedroom, laptop volume low, a Wonderland fancam playing on his screen.

It shouldn’t feel any different, but it does. Hongjoong knows that it’s ridiculous, but watching it on a screen somehow feels more taboo than actually performing the choreography in person, multiple times per day, with San _right there_ in front of him, responding easily to his touch.

But the fact that the fans have noticed, that there are shots from fansites of Hongjoong leaning over San with a predatory smile as San—beautiful and trusting—throws his head back, flooded with comments that are just lines of exclamation points and “_omo_” and, hilariously, in English, “_jesus christ man_”—that somehow makes it even more exciting.

It’s late, and Hongjoong is exhausted, but there’s a tingling warmth building in his belly as he scrolls through fancams of their performances, and close-up images of him and San in what’s beginning to look more and more like a compromising position, and he barely notices when his hand starts to stray low on his stomach, seeking out something he’s been too busy to really consider for a few weeks now. He lets his computer screen dim and closes his eyes, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s doing as his hand slips beneath his waistband and he loses himself briefly to the memory of a lithe body pressed against his own and the lovely expanse of a pale, glistening throat.

It all officially comes to a head when Hongjoong finds himself alone with San in the practice room one night, everyone else having ducked out for the day to get some well earned rest. Hongjoong is slumped against the back wall drinking water, watching as San lazily, gracefully, rehearses a move that he’s been stuck on for the past few days. Hongjoong feels almost voyeuristic (_especially after his… self-care… a couple nights before_), but he lets himself relax as he watches the muscles flex in San’s back. 

“San-ah,” he calls out eventually, making a silent, possibly rash decision.

“Hm?” 

Hongjoong gets to his feet with a languid stretch, and he notes with interest the way San’s eyes track him in the mirror. 

“Do that move again,” Hongjoong says, coming up behind San. “Slower this time. Concentrate on the angle of your hips as you step out of it.” As he says this, he rests his hands on San’s slim waist, feeling bold. San meets his gaze in the mirror, sharp-eyed and curious, but he obeys, immediately sliding into the move he was working on. Hongjoong watches their reflection in the mirror, San moving against him, graceful as a jungle cat, Hongjoong’s hands still resting on his hips. Hongjoong feels a surge of possessiveness at the sight, and on a whim, he turns his head to press his lips gently to San’s hair, so lightly it could be called an accident.

San, as expected, pauses in Hongjoong’s hold, his hands coming to rest on top of Hongjoong’s at his waist.

“Hyung?” His voice is soft, curious and wary. 

“Sorry,” Hongjoong mumbles into San’s hair, starting to pull away, because _oh my god what did he just do_, but San catches his wrists and tugs him closer, letting Hongjoong wrap his arms fully around his waist. Hongjoong meets San’s eye in the mirror, and his stomach bottoms out: San’s eyes are partially hidden by his messy dark hair, but his gaze is heavy with intent, and Hongjoong almost can’t breathe.

“Oh,” he breathes, and San leans back just so, resting his head against Hongjoong’s, baring his neck in the way that has been driving Hongjoong insane ever since Wonderland preparations began. San smiles at him, then, the corner of his lips quirking knowingly, and Hongjoong can’t help but whisper, “Fuck.”

Things happen very quickly after that.

Hongjoong finds himself pinning San to the mirror, and they’re already kissing, breath hot between them, San’s lips parting willingly beneath his own. Hongjoong kisses San until he can’t breathe. He loses himself in the lithe line of San’s body pressed against his, the way San curls one hand into Hongjoong’s hair while the other remains wrapped around his waist, keeping him close (_as if Hongjoong would ever want to move away_). There’s a part of Hongjoong that’s amazed they’ve gone even this far; he spent weeks frustrated and wanting, and the idea that San noticed and apparently wants him too is just… it’s almost too much.

“Wait,” Hongjoong gasps, pulling away for a moment. “You’re—you’re sure about this?”

San fixes him with a deadpan look, cheeks flushed and lips red, then leans in to press a kiss to Hongjoong’s lips, a bit softer this time.

“Very,” he says with a fond, dimpled smile, and Hongjoong can’t help but smile back. He runs a hand through San’s hair, and San’s head moves naturally with it, turning into Hongjoong’s palm. Always following so well, so willing to be touched.

“Good,” Hongjoong says, rather overwhelmed, and then they’re kissing again, Hongjoong cradling the nape of San’s neck, fingers curling into the longer hair there, soft and still a bit damp from practice. These kisses are less desperate than before, deeper, longer, and Hongjoong lets his hands slide down San’s chest to his hips again, tugging him close. San inhales sharply against Hongjoong’s lips; they’re both already half hard, and even that bit of friction is electric. Hongjoong presses closer, and San lets out this helpless little sound that goes straight to Hongjoong’s groin. Hongjoong lets one hand drift down, palming the growing hardness between San’s legs, and San’s hips arch easily into his touch.

For a moment, Hongjoong is tempted to drop to his knees and start there, but he realizes as he watches San lean his head back against the mirror with a groan, eyes closed and lips parted, that he needs to _see_ this—this is the view he’s been craving late at night, when the lights are low and his overtired mind starts wandering, not to mention that San’s face right now should honestly be illegal, all sharp jawlines and high cheekbones and _want_, and there’s no way in hell Hongjoong is missing out on a single moment of it.

So instead, Hongjoong traces his fingertips along San’s jaw and down his bared throat, enjoying the way San’s breath stutters at the sensation, and watches every change in San’s face as Hongjoong slips his hand down the front of San’s pants and starts to work. Hongjoong is painfully hard and utterly rapt as he watches the slight furrow form in San’s brow, the way his teeth work his bottom lip, the way his lips part and his neck arches when Hongjoong twists his hand _just so_, and it doesn’t take long before San is gasping hard and clutching at Hongjoong’s shoulders as his mouth goes slack and his hips twitch and _god_, Hongjoong could get used to this.

Hongjoong leans forward to kiss the corner of San’s mouth. He feels warm all over and slightly light-headed with arousal, and before San’s breaths have even slowed, he meets Hongjoong’s eye and quirks a brow, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

San holds Hongjoong’s gaze for every second it takes him to get on his knees.

Everything goes rather blurry after that. Hongjoong notes the swooping in his stomach as San tugs down his pants, the way his vision just about whites out the first time San takes him into his mouth, the appreciative hum San makes when Hongjoong’s left hand automatically curls into San’s hair as his right smacks into the mirror in an attempt to keep himself upright. Hongjoong refuses to close his eyes, watching San the entire time, marveling at the fact that oh god this is happening, it’s real, _this is not a dream_— 

And then San does this _thing_ with his tongue, and Hongjoong can’t help but groan as his hips kick and pleasure curls from the top of his head down his spine and into his toes, weakening his knees and sending shudders down his arms. He considers briefly just collapsing into a boneless heap on the ground afterwards, but San helps him out by sliding gracefully up his body, placing a soft kiss just below his jawline, and easing them both to the ground to lean against the mirror, wrapped up in a sweaty, shaky, post-climax haze.

It takes a few moments for Hongjoong to recover himself (_hell, when was the last time someone else made him come?_), but the quiet is rather nice. Usually this practice room is packed and boisterous, at times full of laughter, at other times frustrated silence. The calm late-night quiet when it’s just the two of them is a welcome change. Hongjoong can hear the ticking of the clock above the door, San’s soft even breaths, the muffled slam of a door closing from another level of the building.

That sound in particular is enough to rouse Hongjoong back to some semblance of himself, and he finds himself blushing slightly, biting his lower lip.

“So,” he says eventually.

“So,” San says back.

“That was… new.”

“Mm.” San leans his head against Hongjoong’s shoulder, and Hongjoong glances down to see that his eyes have closed.

“This is gonna sound weird,” Hongjoong continues, running a hand over San’s shoulder, up and down, up and down. “But… thanks.”

San huffs out a little laugh and reaches up to pat Hongjoong on the head, the most graceless action Hongjoong has seen from him all night. It would feel patronizing if it weren’t so cute.

“Any time, hyung,” San says, and that’s that.

They remain in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, Hongjoong staring first at the clock, then at his snoozing laptop on the table across the room, then at San, who seems to have fallen asleep against his shoulder, breaths long and even. The motion sensor light clicks off in the hallway outside the practice room, and the shadows grow the tiniest bit darker.

Smiling, Hongjoong leans his head against San, closes his eyes, and finally lets himself sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this story could also be summed up as [Wonderland!Hongjoong voice] i hope this doesn't awaken anything in me.


End file.
